by any one; but the
American Indian loves nothing like laziness and war; and, treacherous by
nature himself, he expects treachery at all times in others. And so,
although they knew of no enemies within miles of them (unless it was
Deerfoot, whom they did not fear) they had two vigilant sentinels on
duty. The rest were stretched out on their blankets with their feet
turned toward the blaze, sleeping like so many tired animals.

At the moment of Deerfoot's approach, the Winnebagos on guard were
standing some twenty feet apart, with the fire burning between them.
Each held a loaded gun in hand and cast his keen glance hither and
thither in the gloom, eyes and ears alert for the first suspicious sight
or sound.

The sentinel nearer Deerfoot was Black Bear himself. The chieftain
evidently believed that the best way to instruct his warriors in their
duty was to set the example. His attitude showed that something had
arrested his attention. Deerfoot knew that the sound had been made by
his moccasin, for he purposely rustled the leaves.

Black Bear looked intently off in the gloom, but seeing nothing, turned
his head and told the other guard to fling more wood upon the fire. He
obeyed, and the circle of light quickly extended out among the trees.

It would have been an easy matter for the Shawanoe to slay both, but he
had no thought of doing so. That would have been killing without
justification.

The Winnebago chieftain was gazing intently into the night, when from
behind a tree, no more than a dozen steps distant, softly stepped the
young Shawanoe.

"Listen, Black Bear," said he, "to the words of Deerfoot the Shawanoe.
Twice did he spare the life of the Wolf and the Wolf thanked him, but he
went out a third time to take his life; he was a rattlesnake, but he had
not the courage of the rattlesnake, for he took with him Wau-ko-mia-tan,
whose heart was that of a rattlesnake also; they bent their steps where
none but Deerfoot has the right to go; therefore Deerfoot killed them
and took away their guns. _There they are!_"

In the same minute that Deerfoot began speaking, the second sentinel
stepped forward and took his place beside his chief. That both were
amazed need not be said. Each stood with the muzzle of his gun lowered,
neither dreaming that the youth thought of assailing them.

Deerfoot spoke in the slow but impressive voice natural to his race. But
the last exclamation escaped him like the discharge from a Leyde